


Her Magnum Opus

by YoungWildThing



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoungWildThing/pseuds/YoungWildThing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bass, troubled by recent events, confronts Charlie after their return from New Vegas. It's not the conversation Charlie expected; he has her figured out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Magnum Opus

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the result of what my brain was thinking after "Happy Endings". Some key points may be recognizable from my Tumblr rants. (Snaps if you can find me there.) But I just had to get this out, using the characters to voice my thoughts. The original intent was for this to be a one-shot, but I can't promise I won't follow up if I have more to say on the subject.

We haven’t really been alone together since I saw her in the dirt with my kid in New Vegas. That night, there was an odd mixture of horror, defiance and amusement in her eyes when I found them. She looked at me, and she wanted me to believe so much that she didn’t give a shit.

But she did.

I know she did, because of how she’s been busy and quiet ever since we got back. If she sticks close to Miles, she doesn’t have to be around me or the kid, which means whatever happens in New Vegas, stays in New Vegas. No one has to talk about it. We just go on like nothing happened, and in her pretty little world, maybe that will work.

Except, she can’t be around Miles for forever. There are practical reasons, for one. For two, she’s cramping his style—she’s not the only one who wants to get laid. So, he tells her to get lost and help me keep an eye out on the horizon, to guard against whatever comes.

She could say no, but that would only make her look guilty of something. And she’s too damn proud for that. She’s going to come with me, just to show the world—and me—that she really just doesn’t care. That is her magnum opus: Charlie Matheson doesn’t care. It’s a good show; I’d buy tickets, but I’m getting a free show right now. She holds her head high, so beautiful and stubborn, and gives an excellent performance.

“We’re running low on ammunition. Somebody’s gotta make a run tomorrow.”

“Since when are you doing the announcements?”

“I’m making conversation. You don’t believe me?”

“You’re pretty believable; I’ll give you that, baby.”

“I’d gotten pretty good at poker in Vegas, I thought. But, tell me—what’s crawled up your ass?”

“What was that all about back there?”

“What?”

“Your poker face ain’t that good, Charlie. You and my kid, on the ground in New Vegas, naked. I would burn my eyes with bleach if I had some.”

“I didn’t know my naked body was so repulsive.”

“You’re flawless. Don’t deflect; it’s beneath you.”

“What do you want me to say? He was there.”

“I’m sure that’s what you told him.”

“It was.”

“But you didn’t tell him the rest.”

“What rest?’

“The rest of the story—the whole story, really. You met my son, you thought he was cute or something. You had opportunities to sleep with him; you didn’t take a one, for some reason. We go to New Vegas. You have a heated exchange with Duncan who you know I’ve slept with. You’re upset with yourself for it. Why should you defend the horrible Monroe? Why would you ever do that? Unless...well, you couldn’t even finish the thought in your head, because you had to destroy it in your mind, scrub yourself clean from the thought you almost thought and the feeling you actually felt.

“Quite simply: you slept with my son, because you can’t stand how you feel about me. It makes your skin crawl. You wish to God you didn’t feel that way; you tried the most surefire way to piss me off and make sure I never looked at you the same way again, except...”

“What?” she asks anxiously.

“There is nothing you can do that would _ever_ change the way I feel about you. And if either of us doubted that for a second, well...that whole little escapade with the kid really tested that. And baby, you ain’t got no poker face. Not when you’re looking at me. I see your eyes. I see eyes that look at mine and see me inside. No eyes have ever looked at me like that; no other eyes ever could. And I know you’re mad at me and, you know, that’s fine. Because it means you care.”

She looks at me, overwhelmed, her front entirely gone. She looks like she might cry or be sick or slap me. I don’t care what she does. Whatever she does is okay.

“I don’t know how to feel feelings,” she blurts finally. “And I probably never will. I’m so fucked up, and I’m not sorry. I won’t let you get close to me; I don’t want to be the one who leaves you. Even if we were perfect, one of us could die. So, take it as a compliment: I like you too much. I like you too much. I like you so much I had to fuck us up beyond repair. You can’t lose what you don’t have.”

“I can’t blame you for that. Or anything. I’m more fucked up than you are. But you’re wrong. You have had me from day one.”

“So, what happens now?”

“I don’t know. We breathe. We live. It’s a mess, Charlie. But I wouldn’t change it, because we’re here now.”

She inhales sharply, stifling a sob. She swallows it down and buries it deep. “That’s good enough for me.”  


End file.
